Halla the Huntress
by ontuva
Summary: All Halla ever wanted was to live peaceful life. Unlucky for her, fate had decided otherwise. Éomer/OC
1. Prologue: A Lonely Rider

_Title: Halla the Huntress (may change later if I make up a better name...)_

_Author: ontuva_

_Beta: xXxAralasxXx (my dear Sarah-hime, what would I do without you...)_

_Rating: M/NC-17, due to the later chapters._

_Pairing: Éomer/OC_

_Genre: adventure, romance, hurt and a bit of humour._

_Warnings: Actually I have no idea what to put here. Warning, there might be dying orcs? … See the rating._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or Middle-Earth. I don't get any money from writing this, I'm just doing this for my own fun. :) Everything you recognise is from the hand of mr. Tolkien. I only own my OC._

_A/N: I know, I know, I haven't updated my other stories, but I just couldn't keep this in my head. I just had to start writing (I'm having a Tolkien season again...). Reviews are very much appreciated. What else can I say? Enjoy! … Or then don't._

**Prologue: A Lonely Rider**

_You cannot sleep_

_For they come in dreams_

_You cannot leave_

_For you are called_

_You cannot escape_

_For you have purpose_

_You cannot stop_

_For you are the Hunter_

_You cannot rest_

_For you are cursed_

A lonely rider trotted forward on the plains of Rohan. First the rider had been only a single black spot in the distance, but now clearly visible. The cloak had been wrapped securely around the body, to keep it warm against the sudden winds of the grass desert. The winter had come early this year- too early, if you asked the rider.

But the pony didn't seem to mind the weather. In fact it seemed to enjoy the harshness of the air, its eyes gleaming of enthusiasm. But then again, the mare had been raised in the north, where snow sometimes covered the lands even in summer. The rider shivered at the thought.

On and on they ventured, the odd pair of ruffled grey coat and black wool cloak, which sometimes groaned and cursed. Every step was pain yet staying still wouldn't do any good either. The feverish eyes had spotted scouts in the distance earlier on. Surely they would come to investigate sooner or later? Riders of Mark usually were curious about visitors traveling in their land, especially during these times when orcs seemed to be found everywhere.

The rider came to a halt, when suddenly hill ahead was full of horsemen. The pony stayed still and waved its ears in interest, when the men in armour came and surrounded the lonely wanderer. Greyish-green eyes looked cautiously at the spears directed towards them. They had to be joking. What threat could possibly five foot and three inches tall frame posses? None whatsoever.

One of the horsemen – where they called Rohirrim? - rode forth with authority that screamed leadership. And the white horsetail in his helmet was a good hint too.

"What is a child like yourself doing alone here?" he asked with voice that would've carried far even on a battlefield. "It is not safe, not when there are orcs roaming around." The question didn't get the answer it had sought but made the small figure shook with silent laughter. They thought they faced a child yet held spears ready? What a delightful country!

"I am not a child" was the answer and it made the rohirrim come one step closer. With their spears.

"Then who are you? Speak!" The look on the man's eyes made it clear that he was tired of playing around. And so was she; the rider decided and dropped her hood down to reveal her face. Now they should have realized they were facing a woman, although her short-cropped hair fooled people sometimes.

"I am Halla the Huntress," she said locking eyes with the horsemaster. He didn't back away from her icy glare, much to her disappointment.

"And what does Halla _the Huntress_ want from Rohan?" he continued his interrogation. It seemed that they didn't believe her nickname to be true.

"That depends on who asks," she shot back without thinking. The fever was humming in her ears, she didn't have time for this! Her hand felt warm and sticky. Had the wound opened?

"I am Éomer son of Éomund, the third Marshal of the Riddermark and you are trespassing our territory! Now state your business!" This man was used to order around. And his men looked like they were able and willing to do whatever he asked. She decided to give up and lifted her left hand, which all this time had been hidden under the cloak, clutching to her side. The blood was dripping from her fingertips and palm indicating the wound had indeed opened again, most likely when she had laughed. She knew she shouldn't have.

"You are wounded." There was a hint of surprise and even worry in the Marshal's voice. She felt like laughing again, but didn't have the strength to do so. Why on Arda would she otherwise be holding her side if not because of a wound?

She didn't have the time to point that out, when the world again started tilting. Or was she tilting? Her last thought before losing consciousness was that maybe she should've acted more ladylike in front of the Marshal. Ladies didn't fall of their horses. Ponies. Whatever. Or maybe it was just the fever talking. Then again - she had never been very ladylike.


	2. Chapter 1: Awakening

_Title: Halla the Huntress (may change later if I make up a better name...)_

_Author: ontuva_

_Beta: xXxAralasxXx_

_Warnings: See the progologue or the rating._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or Middle-Earth. I don't get any money from writing this, I'm just doing this for my own fun. :) Everything you recognise is from the hand of mr. Tolkien. I only own my OC._

**Chapter 1: Awakening**

Éomer son of Éomund, the third Marshal of the Riddermark, did not like surprises. That was because usually the surprises he got consisted of orcs and destroyed villages. And now he faced yet another surprise – a lone woman traveling in the plains and what had happened to her? Orcs. Of that he was sure. And it hurt his pride more than he would admit. It was his duty to keep the East-mark safe and the fact that travellers were getting raided by orcs... That screamed failure to his ears.

They had made camp for the night, since Halla was in no shape to travel yet. They would need to stitch her wound here although Éomer didn't like the idea. Fever usually indicated inflammation and inflamed wounds needed proper medical attention – not quick stitching in the middle of the plains with limited supplies. As soon as she would be able they would travel to Aldburg, his hometown. The healers there would take good care of her if she would live to meet them.

He had asked Éothain, his second in command, to take care of their visitor and her injuries. Éomer didn't trust himself at the moment. His hands shook from the restrained rage and at the moment he would've given anything to get his hands on the orcs who had done this. Every successful attack they made was an insult towards him and his country. It didn't matter whether they attacked his kinsmen or occasional travellers, the safety of this land laid on his shoulders. And sometimes the burden just felt too heavy.

But he was pleased to see that someone had taken care of their visitor's mount. The grey mare was standing with the rest of the horses and seemed to be enjoying herself. His horse, Firefoot, was standing a bit away, wiggling his ears in awareness. "Enjoy your night," Éomer told him. "It seems these calm nights are becoming rarity." Firefoot snorted in answer.

In the tent where Halla was supervised, Éothain was scratching his head, unaware of his Marshal's sulking thoughts. He had sulking thoughts of his own, cursing Éomer, who had given this task to him. Éothain could take care of injured men without any problems and he was fairly good at stitching and bandaging, but this was a woman he was facing! This felt improper. He wondered for a while what his betrothed would say, but then forced the frightening images away.

He sighed and lifted the cloak that had been laid on top of the woman, to keep her from cold. Her side was completely covered with dried blood and with horror Éothain realised that he would have to cut the tunic off. It had glued itself to the wound and her skin, and while he tried to be as gentle as possible, he heard her groan in pain through unconsciousness. The task was more difficult than he had expected. He needed constantly to add water to the fabric, to get it detached from dried blood. Still sometimes he had to pull it with power and cut it with his dagger. Quite quickly he lost himself in the process of freeing the wound and forgot altogether that he was dealing with a woman here.

Until he reached her chest. Éothain did his best to keep his eyes occupied on safer areas, like her armpit, but in the end he had to face the facts. The wound reached the side of her breast and he couldn't really do anything to it without looking at it. He decided to keep thinking about orcs, his grandmother or just about anything but the barely covered breast in front of him. Wilda would kill him. And he would kill Éomer before that.

Now that he could see the whole wound he started to feel pity towards the figure laying in front of him. The cut reached from her chest to the hip. He was surprised that the woman had somehow found the strength to stay conscious and ride for help. The inflammation had started spreading from near the hip. Éothain suspected that the woman hadn't cleaned the wound before starting the journey in the plains. He hoped it wouldn't spread after he'd cleansed and stitched it.

Softly he started cleansing the wound, hoping she wouldn't wake up until he was ready. The breast was still haunting him - after all, he was a man, although an honourable one. And stitching would be easier with her blissfully unaware. He had seen grown men yelling in pain and wasn't sure if he could handle woman's screams.

He almost dropped the needle he was purifying with fire and alcohol when Éomer stepped in. He made a small bow with his head in acknowledgement and continued his task. His Marshal just stood in the middle of the tent, his tall frame looking a bit baffled. It took a while until he realised the breast might be haunting his friend too.

"That's... That's a horrible wound," Éomer said after a while and hid his amusement in fake cough when Éothain glared at him. "She hasn't woken up yet?"

"No, sir. And it is better that she remains unconsciousness until I have finished with the wound." He turned to face Halla's side and started to realize he would have to touch her. In the place he didn't want to touch her. Wilda would kill him; he was a dead man.

"Give me the needle, Éothain. You've done well and deserve a break. Please, let me finish," Éomer said politely, but a hint of a smile was creeping in his lips. Éothain handed him the needle without thinking twice and bowed to him as a thank you before leaving the tent, his cheeks flaming red.

Éomer's smile died on his lips when he looked at the figure lying on the cloak. Her short-cropped reddish hair was stuck on her forehead and her breathing shallow. The whole tent smelled like fever and blood. She looked so fragile – almost like a child.

After cleaning his hands and the needle – you can never be too careful – he started stitching. Éothain had done a very good job cleaning the cut and luckily it wasn't too deep either. He suspected the amount of blood she had lost hadn't been as much as he had first expected. With proper care it would heal and her life wouldn't be in danger, but it would leave a very nasty looking scar.

The only warning he got was the tingling in his neck, but that was enough. The warrior's instincts probably saved his life when the knife came towards his throat. In stead of it slitting his windpipe it left a small scratch on his shirt before he managed to snap a hold of Halla's arm. Her gaze was defiant albeit feverish. When she realised it was him it became confused and her gaze scanned the tent around them until it came resting to her upper body and the tunic that was cut off. Then she fell limp again.

It took a while before Éomer could steady his heartbeat. He had no idea where the knife had come from but he was quite sure Halla had more than one hidden in her garment. It wasn't until he finished with her when he could relax his tensed muscles again. Yes, Éomer son of Éomund definitely did not like surprises.

""

Halla woke with a groan of pain. Her right side felt like it was submerged in molten lava, which, much to her dismay, felt even worse than getting hit by a sword. She had never understood why healing had to hurt so much. With a sigh she tried to feel her wound only to discover it was covered in soft linen. A frown appeared on her face and Halla tried to use all of her wit to make sense of her situation.

The orc scout had found her just when she had finished bathing in the river. Still, she didn't understand how it was able to surprise her, and without a terrified neigh from her beloved pony she probably would've died. That mare had earned itself a reward.

So, instead of the orc killing her – it probably had considered her an easy prey – it had wounded her side when she reached for her swords. Slaying an orc while being naked and wounded hadn't been the most desirable task, but in the end Halla had succeeded.

It had been pure survival instinct. Every moment the thought of losing too much blood had hammered in her brains. And she had been afraid, afraid of losing to this monstrous creature when she could not know what it would do to her. Her mind had wandered again to that dreadful spring when everything in her world had crumbled down and with that in mind she had beat herself to feral rage.

When she came to her senses the orc's head was a few feet away from her and its body hacked to pieces next to it. With a shiver she had collected her clothing and tried to tie the tunic around her as tight as possible. She needed help with the wound, Halla knew that much. She had tried stitching herself once and the experience hadn't been a pleasant one.

Mounting Dustfoot had been difficult, to put it mildly. The mare hadn't calmed down until they were a good distance away from the carcass that once had been an orc scout. Halla hadn't calmed down until the fever had struck and made her feel blissfully numb.

And right now she could feel the panic rising inside her again. With two long inhales and exhales she managed to calm down enough to pay attention to her dark surroundings. There was a cloak on top of her, smelling like a horse, musk, oil and wet dog. Somehow it reminded her of home. With the thought of home comforting her she found the courage to try sitting up.

A yell she couldn't possibly suppress escaped her lips. And with that outburst several things happened at once. Halla heard several running footsteps, words in a language she didn't speak, the sounds of swords being pulled from the scabbards and horses neighing. The night had come alive at once.

In panic she tried to find her swords, but she couldn't spot them anywhere near her. Without her trusted companions on her side she turned to the second best option and tried to flick a small knife in her hand. To her horror it wasn't in its rightful place either. At least her boot didn't betray her and the knife located in there still felt familiar in her hand.

The flap to the tend opened and three male figures walked in, two of them having swords in their hands. Halla clutched to the knife as if her life depended on it. She would have the element of surprise. If only they would come a little closer...

The one in the middle of the group said something to the one standing right to him. He shrugged his shoulders as an answer. The third one, with the tallest frame, sheathed his sword and knelt beside Halla. He smelled just like the cloak on top of her. With her every muscle tense she waited for him to come closer and closer and...

A shriek of agony escaped her lips again. Her side! It felt like thousands of needles piercing it simultaneously and every needle had a salt coating! The knife dropped on the ground and for a moment she had to concentrate on staying conscious. But to her surprise, the man kneeling next to her hadn't even flinched.

"We won't hurt you," he said, his tone comforting as if he was talking to a wild horse. He had a low and soothing voice. She found it very pleasant to listen to. There was also a slight accent in his speech, indicating Westron wasn't his first language. "Would you like to drink something? Water? I'm afraid we don't have any willow bark with us." Halla nodded carefully after realising they must have been the ones to take care of her wound. The mention of water had made her painfully aware of her dry mouth and the thought of having willow bark was heavenly.

"I have some willow bark in my saddle bags if you can get them for me," she managed to utter, her voice coarse from lack of moisture. The man she was speaking to nodded and turned to face the others. However, she understood nothing what he told them to do. After listening for a while she however had to admit that she liked the sound of the language. It almost lulled her to sleep, but only almost. The pain in her side made sure of that.

"Are you the riders of Rohan?" she asked quietly. Halla had no memory of coming to this place and although the man seemed vaguely familiar with his long hair and dark eyes, she didn't know who he was. In the back of her head she had a feeling she should. The man seemed somewhat perplexed by her question.

"You don't remember encountering us? Yes, we are the riders of Rohan. I'm Éomer, son of Éomund. I did introduce myself earlier, but I have feeling your fever was rather high back then, Halla _the_ _Huntress._" There was a hint of smile on Éomer's lips as he said it. Somehow Halla remembered that tone.

"Are you mocking me? I did not choose my nickname, it was given to me," Halla hissed between her teeth. "Or do you make fun of everyone who crosses your path?" Still, after many years of surprised gazes, taunts and disbelief she still didn't like when people questioned her. Funny, she thought she'd be used to it by now.

Éomer raised his hands in to indicate that he was sorry. "I am sorry if I have insulted you in any way. It is just a rather odd nickname to be given to anyone," he held a pause, as if thinking would he be bold enough to ask his next question, "What exactly do you hunt?"

"Orcs," she said bluntly and almost crossed her hands across her chest until the pain reminded her that moving was not an option. The look Éomer gave her was almost comical. There was disbelief and surprise combined. And something else, but Halla wasn't quite sure what.

"You hunt orcs?" he repeated to be sure of what he had heard. Then he said nothing, except "Hmm" which might have meant anything between "interesting" and "horseshit". Luckily that was the moment when Halla's willow bark decided to arrive. She had been ready to give a mouthful to the man, but the tea diverted her thoughts. Or rather the fact that they had taken the time to make her tea rather than just giving the willow bark to her to chew on.

"I'm sorry, milady, for we didn't have any honey to accompany it," the man bringing the tea and water said, and tried actively shift his gaze to anywhere but her. His accent was slightly more visible than Éomer's and he seemed younger than his commander. Halla wasn't sure but there might have been a slight blush on his cheeks. She looked at Éomer to confirm her suspicion and saw that he was holding back a grin and failing miserably.

"Thank you, Éothain, I'm sure our lady visitor will like it just fine, even without the honey to sweeten it," Éomer answered and dismissed him. Halla eyed them both. There was something here she wasn't understanding. The innocent gaze Éomer gave her confirmed it. "You should drink it now, while it is still warm," he said, like nothing had happened.

"Why was he blushing?" She went straight to the point. "And what is all this lady-nonsense? I have never been one and I'm not planning to be one any time so-", she was cut off mid-sentence when Éomer lifted the waterskin on her lips and made her drink water. She drank eagerly, now remembering how thirsty she had been and forgot her questions altogether.

However, Éomer didn't let her drink as much as she would've liked. In stead he handed her the willow bark tea and made sure she drank all of it. Halla wasn't quite sure if she was annoyed or embarrassed by this. She decided the former when she saw the small smirk on the man's lips.

"Are you always this concerned with your visitors?" Halla asked with a hint of her irritation showing through her voice. She realised her question might have been insulting when she saw how the look on Éomer's face changed quicker than a wood elf reloaded his bow. His lips pressed into a thin line and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes disappeared.

"You are a visitor in our country and I'm in the charge of East Mark's safety. The fact that you got attacked by someone or something clearly states that I'm not doing my task as well as I should," Éomer stated while staring at the tent's fabric wall. Halla felt a sting of guilt strike at her heart. It was not his fault that Halla had not been cautious.

"I'm sure you are doing all you can," she answered while playing with the cloak's fabric with her fingers. The pain in her side was starting to fade and Halla found herself to be quite ravenous. She saw the familiar hint of amusement return to Éomer's eyes when he too heard to growling of her stomach.

"I'll ask Éothain to bring you something to eat. I think we still have some rabbit stew left from earlier," he said and a boyish grin appeared on his face for a while. "Éothain really likes your company."

Halla lifted her brow and stared at the man before her. "He does?" she asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice. She was quite sure Éothain was the man who had brought her the tea earlier. There was something going on here and Halla wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. The only answer she got was the low chuckling of Éomer's when he left the tent.


	3. Chapter 2: Journey

_Title: Halla the Huntress  
_

_Author: ontuva_

_Beta: Not betaed, so if you see any mistakes, please, let me know :)_

_Warnings: Nothing too bad here. No M stuff. T maybe._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or Middle-Earth. I don't get any money from writing this, I'm just doing this for my own fun. :) Everything you recognise is from the hand of mr. Tolkien. I only own my OC's (meaning characters you don't regocnize. I've realized I have to make a quite lot of them, so try to bear with me.)_

_A/N: One reviewer! Thank you very much, reviews always make me very happy. :) Thank you, you know who you are._

_And to other matters! My update rate is going to be slow (if you have read any of my other fics, you know this), but I will finish this fic. I've made clear plans to where I want to take this and what will happen (I only just have to write them!), when usually I just make stuff up when I go._

_Word count: 2,003_

**Chapter 2: Journey**

Halla woke up startled. For a while she had to tell herself that she was fine and the images of the burning house, the smoke gathering in her lungs and the pain when the flames had licked her body were only a dream. She was in Rohan. She was safe – at least for the moment. Halla let out a sight she didn't know she had been holding and tried to calm herself down.

She was doing very well until Éothain ran in and started gathering things in a hurry. Halla followed him with her gaze and before she managed to ask what was going on, Éomer rushed in too. He was tense, she could see it from his movements. She wondered if something had happened. Maybe orcs?

"Orcs are attacking a nearby settlement. If we leave right away, we might have a chance of killing them," Éomer explained and without a warning lifted Halla in his arms. She let out a yelp when she felt his strong arms holding her closely. "You are leaving to Aldburg with Éothain and Elkbard. We will catch you later on."

Halla opened her mouth to voice a protest. She didn't like to be ordered or carried around like a sack of potatoes, but one look at Éomer's face made her keep her opinions to herself. His jaw was clenched and his lips formed a thin line. She had seen that expression cross his father's features many times so she knew that any attempt to protest against his decisions would be futile. He had already made his opinion clear.

She didn't speak until it was obvious that she was to ride with Éothain on his horse. She found this out when she was sitting on top of that said horse with Éothain behind her. She didn't like the idea – first because she didn't like to think she was weak or unable to do something herself and second, because – what was going to happen to her beloved mare? She couldn't leave her here!

"What is to happen to Dustfoot?" she asked from Éomer before he was able to disappear among his soldiers. He frowned until he apparently made the connection with the unknown name to the pony grazing ground with some of the horses.

"We shall bring her when we return," he sighed. "She shall be fine, I will give you my word for it." Before Halla could give him any decent answer, he had already ordered Éothain leave and the sudden movement of the horse beneath her made her clench her teeth in pain. She had no idea how long the trip to Aldburg would be, but in her current state it would surely feel like forever.

"Does your wound bother you, milady?" she heard Éothain ask behind her. "I'm sorry we didn't have any time to make proper travel arrangements. We do have your saddle bags with us in case you need something from there. Perhaps more willow bark?"

"The pain isn't a foreign thing to me, sir," Halla answered and found herself to be surprised. She had actually said _sir_. Perhaps she had learned something from her nurse after all. She had insisted Halla needed to learn at least the basics of proper behaviour.

She noticed Éothain shifted uncomfortably behind her. She frowned and almost told the man to stop his wiggling until she realised that for a man and woman to be this close without being betrothed was far from "proper". Halla winced. If the whole journey was to consist of extremely uncomfortable Éothain, the sulking Elkbard, who still hadn't spoken a word, and a dull, growing pain on her side... Halla sighed. Life was indeed merry.

She glanced backwards towards the camp and saw that the men were already ready to face the orcs. Halla had seen many things in her young life, but the discipline and swiftness of rohirrim still made her look in awe. They moved as one. Even in the shadowy night she could see the helmet with the white horsetail moving among the rohirrim, commanding the men. They moved according to his every order with grace that left her wondering how many years he had been their leader.

"How often do orcs attack your settlements?" she asked, still not averting her gaze from the distancing figures. Éothain seemed puzzled by her question. Probably because he didn't expect her to care. He too glanced back before setting his eyes on the plains that seemed to go on forever.

"Too often if you ask Éomer," Éothain answered with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Usually they just steal sheep or horses, probably to feed on them, but lately... they've grown bolder. Blood has been spilled and Éomer won't stand it, but we have too little men to keep the whole East-Mark safe."

"Then it is true – the shadow has returned to the East and his orcs are regrouping," Halla whispered and felt a cold hand grip his heart. Her father had been right. Dark times were ahead of her. Instantly her hand went to the medallion on her neck, bearing the mark of her family. The familiar feeling of cold metal under her fingers calmed her a bit.

"We have no quarrel with Mordor," Éothain muttered. "And I hope it stays that way. The orcs here do not bear his mark so they are probably rogues."

"We do not wish for war," Elkbard stated his first words on the journey. "We do not fight until we have to."

"But surely that cannot mean you accept the Dark Lord's reign!" Halla cried out, astonished by the men's answers. She felt Éothain stiffen behind her and Elkbard's jaw made from stone seemed to tense even more, which she hadn't thought was even possible.

"We are not his allies," Éothain clarified, the disdain clear in his voice. "Yet we do not seek open war with him." Halla snorted.

"So you are going to just wait here until he comes for you? It is clear he has some sort of plan! I'm quite sure he doesn't stay in his dark tower in Mordor just to watch the weather change around him!" She inhaled a deep hissed breath. The wound had started hurting again. "I'm quite sure Gondor isn't just going to sit on his bottom and wait for Sauron to come and visit them!"

Both of the men were clearly uneasy, probably because deep in their hearts they knew she was right. She glared at them both. How could they think that way? Sauron had never been known for sitting idle and doing nothing!

"A woman should know her place and leave the war and the important decisions to the men. Woman's place is at the heart of the home, with the children and a barrel of mead ready for her husband," Elkbard judged after a short, but awkward silence. Halla gaped at him, her mouth open wide. She didn't just hear that. Éothain sensed the incoming storm of words and decided it was best to shift the topic of the conversation to safer areas. Like weather. Weather was always good choice.

"Quite chilly here tonight," he said with feigned interest, "coldest winter in quite some time. Are the winter's cold in where you come from, milady?" He received a glare from both Halla and Elkbard.

"Yes," Halla answered with ice tripping from her voice. "I fear I've grown tired of our conversations, so if you'll excuse me I'll start sleeping now. My previous effort was ended short." She boldly set her head to rest on Éothain's shoulder. "Good night, _sirs_. I hope your assess freeze."

/

/

They reached Aldburg in four days. Most of the journey they had travelled in silence, since Halla had been shifting in and out from fewer and Elkbard wasn't much of a talker. Éothain had realised that the girl, no _woman_, travelling with them had a sharp mind and even sharper tongue when she had been in condition to speak. Elkbard had been in the receiving end of many of her jests and taunting. He had never answered to her, probably realising it would only add fuel to the fire burning, but everytime Halla opened her mouth his jaw clenched and a throbbing vein appeared on his forehead.

"I think we need to see the healers first," Éothain said to Elkbard and shifted Halla to a better position in his lap. She had been sleeping for most of the day and Éothain was quite sure her fever was rising again. Elkbard had refused to take the her with him, so Éothain had ridden the whole journey with her. Luckily she didn't weigh much.

"I'm not sure they have a cure for her condition," Elkbard muttered under his breath and gazed at her. "What she really needs is a firm husband and discipline. Did you hear what she called me most of the time?" Elkbard shook his head in amazement. "No wonder the orc tried to kill her. Do you think she taunted it too?"

"You mean called it a stinky woman beating brute? I can see that happening," Éothain answered with a hint of a smile in his lips. Elkbard glared him and Éothain felt a boyish smile appear on his face.

"You are hopeless. Wilda will have your nutsacks in her firm grip no time and you won't even realise it!" Elkbard announced and urged his steed forward. Éothain paled. Wilda. He had not been giving her a lot of thought lately, mostly because he was occupied on checking constantly on Halla's condition. How on Arda would she react to him arriving to city with a woman on his lap? He gulped. This would not end well.

"Elkbard!" Éothain yelled after him in desperation. He received a curious glare from ahead him. "You need to take lady Halla! I can't ride in front of Wilda with a foreign woman with me!" If Éothain had not been panicking, he might've thought the look on Elkbard's usually stern face beyond comical. He stared at him in utter confusion until the reality of the situation started to sink in.

"No!" he said. "No! No, no, no, no! I'm not doing it. I'm not. What did I say to you about your nutsacks a while ago? See, Wilda already has them! I'm not taking Halla!"

"But she's sleeping, she won't notice! Just take her to the healers. That's all we need to do! It isn't even a long journey. Look, we can already see the town from here!" Éothain was beyond desperate. Wilda had always been very possessive of him, even more after they had been engaged to each other. No good would come of the situation - unless Elkbard would help him.

A series of emotions crossed his friend's face until he came to a conclusion. Elkbard sighed in defeat and Éothain felt a surge of relief coming from his own heart. Wilda would not castrate him, at least not today.

"You owe me," Elkbard stated sternly. He clearly was not happy about this. Elkbard had developed a big distaste for Halla and her manners during the few days they had spent together. Éothain was quite sure the feeling was mutual. "And I'm not staying with the healers."

"You don't have to," Éothain promised. Elkbard groaned, probably not believing him while lifting Halla's frame to his saddle. She moaned a bit in his sleep and let out a series of words neither of them understood.

"Great, now she's cursing probably me in language I don't even understand," Elkbard muttered. "You owe me, Éothain. More than one pint of mead, I might add."

"And you have saved my life, my dear friend."

/

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_A/N: Halla's name is actually Finnish which basically means frost. I think it fits since mr. Tolkien used a lot of Finnish mytology and Finnish language as a base for his stories. What are your opinions? Like it, not like it? Let me know!_


	4. Chapter 3: Healer

**Title: Halla the Huntress**

_Author: ontuva_

_Beta: Not betaed, so if you see any mistakes, please, let me know :)_

_Warnings: Cursing and other bad words, missing limbs, Elkbards' POV_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or Middle-Earth. I don't get any money from writing this, I'm just doing this for my own fun. :) Everything you recognise is from the hand of mr. Tolkien. I only own my OC's._

_A/N: Ha, two reviews! Thank you! ^^_

_Word count: 2,679_

**Chapter 3: Healer**

"I curse that woman and that damned healer! 'Stay up and watch her! It's not like you have anything better to do.' Damn him! Better to do? Right now I could be in the tavern drowning my annoyance in a wonderful pint of mead – a mead Éothain would surely buy for me – but no! 'Stay here!' The horselords are looking at me and laughing! I can feel it in my bones!" Elkbard muttered while sitting next to Halla's bed. "Can't spare anyone else to watch her? In my arse! I know the old sack of bones is probably laughing at his beard right now! Oh, how low has the great and might Elkbard sunk, watching over a woman!"

He shifted his position when he heard Halla whispering something to herself. The damned woman hadn't woken even when Elkbard had shaken her and yelled her to do so. Of course he had done it when the healer was absent. Elkbard wasn't stupid, and although Nerian was old, the grumpy healer still had fire in him. The fact that he also was the only healer they currently had may have affected Elkbard's decision making too. He didn't want to wake up one morning to realize his cock had shrunken and would eventually fall off. He wasn't really sure if the healer really was able to do so, but he wouldn't take his chances. He liked his cock.

"Éothain owes me two pints of mead," he concluded after listening Halla whimper for a while. "This is way too embarrassing. One pint won't be enough." The thought of the sweet nectar of life improved his mood a little. Maybe he could persuade Éothain buying him three. Or even four! He smacked his lips together. Yes, four might be enough for him to consider Éothain as his friend again.

"You smell foul, Elkbard," the ill-tempered woman next to him commented on common tongue, not opening her eyes.

"I smell manly," Elkbard retorted and gazed at her. He might have considered her cute, maybe even beautiful, but he absolutely hated her short-cropped hair. It made Halla look like a boy. The fact that right now it was smeared to her skull with sweat made it look even less appealing. One of her eyes opened and squinted in the light.

"How long have I been out?" she asked, going straight to the point. She still looked rather feverish, but she was sweating. It was a good sign and meant her fever was coming down. She opened the other eye too and blinked like an owl for a while.

"Two days," Elkbard grunted and tried to see if the healer was back. The tavern was calling his name! He could feel the pull in his heart. The woman was awake, so he didn't need to be here anymore!

"I see," Halla murmured and tried to rise to a sitting position. Elkbard glared at her. The healer's instructions were clear. She was not to move.

"You aren't allowed to do that," he said and placed his hand at her shoulder, stopping her movement. Elkbard received an angry look from Halla. "Healer's orders." Halla snorted, but stopped her wiggling.

After that the silence enveloped them. It was uncomfortable and awkward and Elkbard suddenly decided he needed five pints of mead from Éothain. He felt like a chaperone and didn't like it one bit. There had been only once case when he actually had enjoyed watching over a woman and she had been Éomer's little sister. And many years ago.

The silence broke when the door to the hut was kicked open and Éomer's rohirrim started to pour in, carrying their injured comrades to the free beds and chairs making the small room crowded in mere seconds. Elkbard rose swiftly from his chair when Éomer himself entered and couldn't resist a flinch when the man threw his helmet in the corner of the room.

"Where's the healer?" he yelled in Rohirric not bothering to look for him. "We need him immediately! I'm not letting my rohirrim die on my hands just because the orcs are using poisoned arrows! Filthy shits!" Éomer was fuming and by the looks of it, so were many others too. The ones occupying the beds didn't look good though. One young boy had lost his arm and Elkbard couldn't even recall his name. He did feel a pang of guilt in his heart because of it. He should know the names of his comrades.

"Elkbard!" Éomer had finally realised he was in the room too. "Where in the name of Arda is Nerian? Or one of his pupils? What use it is to have a healer's house when he is not even present when I bring my injured in?" Elkbard didn't have time to answer, because then the healer scurried inside.

"Oh my," he stated and hurried towards the armless youngster. That tore Éomer's gaze from Elkbard and instead he started listening to the healer, his faze growing sterner every minute.

"Elkbard, where are my saddlebags?" Halla asked with voice that was barely audible in the room. People were running around, taking orders, boiling water, bringing herbs, calming their friends and comrades. Some of the injured where muttering to themselves and one was screaming his head off while trashing wildly in his bead, his friend trying to hold him still. Elkbard noticed Halla was following the pair intently.

"You don't need your saddlebags now! There are more important things going on," he muttered. "I'm going to help them!" He nodded towards the pair and left Halla's bedside not listening to her protests. She could have her silly saddle bags later! Right now Elkbard was needed elsewhere. He recognized the pair now. They were twins, Deogol and Dreogan if he remembered correctly, from near the border of Gondor. They had come to Aldburg after orcs had slain their mother and their little sister while they were working in the fields. Éomer hadn't needed much of persuasion to let the two join the ranks of rohirrim.

"What happened?" Elkbard grunted while taking a firm grip of the young man's shoulders. He wasn't sure which on was which. Only Éomer was able to tell the twins apart and he hadn't revealed how he did it.

"We found the orcs," Deogol or Dreogan said and tried to bind his brother to the bed with a leather strap. "It seems the bastards have found a new poison. Deogol was hit early in the battle to his hip with an arrow. We first thought the wound was healing well, but then this," he waved at Deogol, "started happening. And he is not the only one." Dreogan glanced around the room and Elkbard followed his example. True enough a lot of the injuries didn't seem life threatening, but the men still were looking as they were dying. His gaze went around the room and stopped when he saw Halla's bed. Halla's empty bed to be exact.

"Where is that insolent female?" he muttered in common tongue and tried to find her. It seemed he was looking too far.

"I'm right here you ugly brute" Halla's voice could be heard behind him. "Keep him still or otherwise he will spill this all over the place and we seriously can't afford to waste this stuff." She was holding a small cup in her hands.

"What is that?" Elkbard asked with suspicion in his voice while Dreogan was eyeing them questioningly. He didn't speak common tongue enough to understand what they were saying. Halla was swaying on her feet and looked like she was going to pass out any moment, but there was a fire burning in her eyes that wasn't fever.

"My piss to make his death even more embarrassing, you idiot! What do you think it is?" she yelled. "Counterpoison! Now hold his head!" There was something in the woman's tone that made Elkbard do exactly what Halla said without asking questions. Only after she had poured the foul-looking drink in Deogol's mouth was Elkbard beginning to come out of his haze. Dreogan was talking rapidly in Rohirric wanting to know what was going on and who in the name of the horselords was the woman who was currently stroking his brother's forehead and whispering words to him in a language neither of them knew.

Elkbard was about to answer Dreogan when Halla suddenly whirled around and started her unstable walk towards another patient. She had to stop and lean on the bed for a while to gather herself. Elkbard glanced at Dreogan, who still had no idea what just had happened, but at least Deogol had stopped his trashing and was now lying peacefully on the bed. For once Elkbard decided it was time to swallow his pride.

He swooped Halla to his lap and carried her to the next patient. She didn't even have time to protest.

"Do your magic," he gruffed and laid her on the chair. "I'll carry you around." He knew from the look on her face that she was about to protest. "Look, if you start wobbling around the room someone's bound to knock you over and you'll hurt yourself. This way it's more quicker too. I'm quite sure we are in a hurry." She closed her mouth, nodded and pointed at her bed.

"Bring me my saddlebags and water." It was probably the first time in Elkbard's life when he obeyed woman's orders without question. Éothain would have to buy him at least eight pints.

They were treating their third patient, or rather Halla was treating and Elkbard just standing in wonder, when Nerian noticed what was going on. The healer left his current patient and hurried to see what Halla was doing.

"Amazing, amazing," he muttered and looked at the woman with clear interest in his eyes. "You know what poison they are using? And also possess the counterpoison?" It looked like the old man's birthday had come early this year.

"I had a friend who almost died of this poison, so I recognize symptoms well. After that incident I took it upon myself to always carry the counterpoison with me." She dug her saddlebag and offered the healer a small bag of blackish powder. "Two spoonfuls mixed with a cup of water. And it needs to be given quickly. Even now I'm not sure if everyone will survive."

"And words you are saying?" the healer inquired. Halla smiled a sad smile.

"A prayer to the Valar, nothing more," she explained and Nerian nodded.

"Thank you," he said and started to help the patients who yet hadn't received their dose. Halla sighed and leaned herself against a chair.

"I was afraid he would not listen to me," she sighed. "That's why I started giving them out myself." Elkbard did not know what to answer to that. He himself hadn't listened to her at first. The healer was quicker at his work than Halla, mostly because he told others to help him.

The unmoving character in the corner of the room woke Elkbard's interest. Éomer was sitting on a stool, his hands on his head, staring into nowhere. He had a small cut on his cheek, but otherwise seemed unharmed. He hadn't yet removed his armour and his helmet was still laying on the floor where he had thrown it.

"He needs to drink too." Halla stole Elkbard's attention. "There is a yellowish glint in his eyes and his hands are trembling. It won't be long before he starts ranting and trashing around too." Elkbard glanced at Halla and then back at Éomer. He couldn't see well in the dim light, but his Marshal did seem a bit off. He never sat still. Especially not in the healer's house, where he was constantly checking on how his men were doing. Nerian seemed to be busy with other patients, so Elkbard lifted Halla to his arms again.

Éomer glanced up when they arrived next to him and seemed surprised to see Halla. Up close even Elkbard could see that Halla was right. His commander looked sick.

"I'm sure you shouldn't be up yet," Éomer commented to Halla and glanced at Elkbard. "You let her get up."

"More like she was up before I noticed," Elkbard muttered, "but she has the counterpoison. You need to take it too." Elkbard didn't bother calling Éomer sir or Marshal, because he knew Éomer hated it. Except when the situation needed it, like in court.

"So that's what this is," Éomer sighed and flexed his fingers. "I thought I was just exhausted from the ride."

"That's the first symptom," Halla explained and handed Éomer the cup she had carried. "After that your eyes become bloodshot and you start to feel dizzy and disoriented. The worst stage is where your eyes start to have yellowish glint and you began hallucinating. Death usually follows soon afterwards. The poison is slow, sometimes it might take even a week to kill a person, but only a small scratch is enough to deliver it." Éomer listened to her intently, then swallowed the drink with one go and winced afterwards.

"Tasted even fouler than my sister's cooking," he concluded and closed his eyes leaning to the wall. "How long until it will take effect?"

"One to three hours depending on how far the poisoning has advanced," she answered. Elkbard noticed Halla was looking very sick herself.

"Time to go back to bed," Elkbard said. Halla turned her feverish gaze at him. She would soon need another dose of willow bark and probably something stronger too. Yet she waved him off.

"Not just yet," she said and turned to look back at Éomer. "May I say a prayer for you?"

"I didn't take you for a religious person" was Éomer's answer as he looked at Halla under his eyelids. A small blush appeared on the woman's face. Or perhaps it was the fever, Elkbard couldn't be sure.

"I'm not. It's more of a tradition" she offered as an explanation. Elkbard started to feel like he was the third wheel here. He got the same feeling everytime Éothain saw his girl.

"Feel free to do whatever you feel is necessary," Éomer gave her the permission. Halla rested her hand on Éomer's forehead and Elkbard got the sinking feeling in his stomach that he was invading something personal here. Halla recited her prayer while Éomer stared right at her eyes. Elkbard decided to look somewhere else. He was invading, he was sure of it. Damn woman! Damn Éomer! And mostly damn Éothain!

After Halla's final words faded into silence Elkbard decided it was alright for him to remind that the woman needed her rest. To his surprise he didn't have the chance to do so.

"Was that elvish?" Éomer asked from Halla and to his and Elkbard's surprise Halla's reaction was far from what they had expected. She stood straighter, her jaw took a defiant stance and her eyes were full of disdain.

"No" was her short answer. "You'll forgive me, _sirs_, I fear I need to go and rest now." Even without her using of words the message was clear – she didn't want to speak to them anymore. Halla turned on her heels and slapped Elkbard's hand away when he offered to help her.

"I can survive on my own, thank you very much," she hissed and limped towards her bed.

"I swear to Valar, I'll never understand women," Éomer muttered.

"They are good at making mead," Elkbard said. "Which reminds me of a debt Éothain needs to pay right about now." Éothain would owe him ten pints. At least.


	5. Chapter 4: The Poisoner

**Title: Halla the Huntress**

_Author: ontuva_

_Beta: Not betaed, so if you see any mistakes, please, let me know :)_

_Warnings: Cursing, etc, etc_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or Middle-Earth. I don't get any money from writing this, I'm just doing this for my own fun. :) Everything you recognise is from the hand of mr. Tolkien. I only own my OC's._

_A/N: YAY. More readers. I'm happy to know people are actually reading and even enjoying this. Thank you! :)_

_Word count: 2,615_

******Chapter 4: The Poisoner**

Halla woke to the sent of death later that night. At first her groggy mind couldn't comprehend what was going on, until she realised it was quiet in the healer's hut. Too quiet.

The trashing, screaming and the muttering of the young boy whose arm had been cut of had stopped. She could hear the healer talking to one of his apprentices, advising him on how to wash the dead body and how the prepare it for the funeral.

Halla had a sinking feeling on her guts. She could have saved him. If only she had been faster, stronger and not so damn idiotic, he could still be alive.

Another death that was on her hands.

She bit her lip until it bled. She couldn't stand this.

Halla threw the covers off of her and placed her bare feet on the ground. She needed to get out. She needed fresh air. The whole room was spinning and the distance to the door seemed endless in her current state, but she wouldn't stay there. She just couldn't.

She felt sick to her very core.

How many deaths stained her hands already?

_No, no, don't think that way. Breathe. Breathe. You can do this. You know what you have to do._

Halla let out a long breath and took a long one in. She regretted it, when she remembered she was sharing the room with the dead boy.

No, she needed to get out. _Now._

Carefully she lifted herself and resisted a moan that was trying to escape her mouth. Her sides hurt. They hurt so bad. Like thousand burning needles invading her ribs. Her breath became ragged, but still – she was standing.

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The door seemed to be so far away and the healer too close to her for her to be able to sneak out unnoticed, but still, she did it. She wasn't quite sure how and was it even wise, but she did it still.

And how good it felt to be able to inhale the crispy night air. It rattled in her lungs and burned her all the way down, but it felt good. Purifying. The ground had a small section of ice on top of it and her bare feet soon became numb. She didn't care. That death, and all those that would follow the boy in to the lands beyond, were on her hands.

Halla noticed a bench next to the door and sat on it, to save her strength. A bile was rising on her throat and she had to do everything in her power not to break down and sob miserably.

She was a failure, a small part of mind commented. She had failed in everything she had ever tried and would continue doing it until her dying breath. She was cursed to fail. That was her destiny.

The taste of blood in her mouth woke her back to reality. Biting her lip again, really? She had retorted back to her childhood habit so easily?

Her father had been right. She was a weakling and needed to become stronger. Her mishaps had just cost one life. Maybe more.

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting," a male's voice disrupted her trace of thoughts and she couldn't resist to flinch. She thought she had been all by herself. Another mishap on her part.

Halla found her mood lowering when she realised her suspicions had been right and the interrupter was indeed the Marshal himself - Éomer. She wasn't particularly good at reading other people's faces, but Éomer's was true enough to show he wasn't happy.

So, he knew. He had to know.

"You are not. I'm not doing particularly anything, as you can see," she gestured around her, "I'm just sitting." _And contemplating how quickly I can get out of the country..._

He sat next to her and being a gentleman didn't comment on her lack of proper outfit and kept his eyes firmly on the dark horizon. She swallowed. The unasked question hang in the air and she was afraid of it.

But she knew he would ask.

"It was rather fortuitous for you to have the antidote with you," he started. Halla hoped her condition would have been good enough for her to dart away and leave Rohan immediately.

Oh, how evil the Valar were towards her.

"As I explained to..." she was beginning her answer, but was cut off by a stern look from Éomer. She shut her mouth. Lucky lies. She was so full of lucky lies and people weak from the poison, who were fools enough to believe them.

"I'd like the truth this time. I've been thinking this the whole night and it finally dawned on me. The poison in the orc's possession? It was too exotic for them. They got it from you, didn't they?"

The accusation was out and she realised she wouldn't be able to wriggle her way out of this one. Those deaths were on her hands. It would do no good to lie any more. Éomer already knew. He had seen through her lies.

"Yes," she whispered and held back the tears that were trying their damned best to come out. She wouldn't break down and fall down crying to beg for his forgiveness. No!

She heard him exhale a small disappointed sigh, but couldn't bear to look at him. She felt horrible. They had saved her life and how had she repaid them? With death. Only with death.

And surely they would repay her with death.

"What I'd like to know... No, what I demand to know is... why?"

Halla could feel his gaze on her like two burning coils staring right down at her soul. The guilt in her gut seemed to weigh her down. Why, he asked. _Why?_

She hadn't done it intentionally!

"I... I..." Her voice was barely audible in the night. "I was bathing." Her voice cracked and she swallowed. Luckily Éomer didn't comment anything on it. "I was reckless. I was stupid. The orc almost got me. I had been stupid enough to leave my saddlebags lying on the ground and after the hit... I was just in a hurry to find someone to help with the wound. I was delirious.

"I left one of my saddlebags in the bank. The one with my poison cache."

There. It was out. The truth was out.

It had dawned on her the minute the soldiers had barged in the healer's hut. She hadn't seen her other saddlebag at all. The sinking feeling had only gotten worse when she had seen the condition the men were in.

Those had been done by her poison.

She had prayed to every deity she knew she had the antidote with her. After finding them she had thanked every deity she knew. One of those had answered to her pleas and she just didn't know which one.

"Now you know," she said and lifted her gaze towards the sky. She would probably die because of this. Then again, faith always had worked in mysterious ways whenever she was concerned.

"You are crying." It was a statement and she was fairly surprised when she felt his thumb wisp away her tear. A part of her was furious of him needing to pity her and other part of her was ready to fall on the ground and receive a righteous death for the deed she had aided the orcs in.

She didn't find the strength in her to answer to him. What would she even say? That she was sorry?

That wouldn't be good enough. A young lad has lost his life tonight because of her. Who knew how many would follow? What would her being sorry help when their families would be presented the with the news? What would her being sorry help when their families needed help in the field, when their families missed their son, brother or a husband?

She being sorry for their loss was worth nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever and she started to feel the cold creeping upon her again. She couldn't resist a chill and rubbed her arms trying to stay warm. She didn't want to go back inside again. Not there, where all of _them _were.

Halla felt Éomer beside her moving, but didn't know what he was up to until she felt the heavy fur cloak on her shoulders. She braved a gaze towards him and saw that his face was as still as a mask.

"Thank you," she said quietly and looked back at the ground again. Somehow her feet were easier to face than his looming presence.

"It wasn't your fault," he finally said and she couldn't but to feel surprised. It wasn't her fault? How was it not her fault? The orcs had raided her poison supply, used them on his men and now at least one of them was lying on his death-bed. How could that _not_ be blamed on her?

"Yet many deaths could have been prevented if I hadn't been careless," she answered, again remembering the screams she had heard in the healer's house. Inside her head they mixed with her mother's screams.

She swallowed.

_Try not to think about it. Try not to think about._

"The lad with the missing arm? He hadn't been poisoned. His death is his own fault, for carelessly riding out of the formation and falling of his horse. He was easy prey for the orcs after that."

Halla's head snapped to his direction almost instantaneously. He hadn't been poisoned at all? So that death wasn't her fault?

First she felt relief and right after that a rushing wave of guilt. How could she be relieved even though a boy has just died? What kind of a person was she?

A horrible person, a voice inside of her answered. A horrible, horrible person.

"The orcs had raided his home killing his mother and her unborn child while he had been herding with his father. After we spotted this raiding party, no one could stop him for foolishly breaking out of formation to rush after some fleeing orcs. His horse tripped on a rabbit hole and threw him off the saddle. The orcs managed to get his arm. He was a fool," Éomer told her. "Albeit a brave one."

"You speak harsh words about our own men," Halla commented, a bit surprised. Then again, her father had said harsher words to her and she was kin.

"Some of them are just boys, fresh from their mother's skirts. I try to get some sense into them before they are accepted in the ranks of the rohirrim, but usually the first battle is the hardest."

"You forget your orders, your hands are sweaty on the grip of your sword and your own heart is beating so hard in your own ears you can barely even hear the enemy," she muttered, not even realizing she had spoken out loud until Éomer's reply.

"You have seen battles?" He sounded surprised. Halla lifted her eyebrow at him and met his gaze head on. She had said this before. She still meant it.

"I hunt orcs," she stated. "So, yes." Some bigger, some smaller, but she had seen her share. And her first one would hunt her for the rest of her life.

_You have blood on your hands. _She tried to shut the voice of her father from her head. She knew that.

"And why do you hunt orcs?" Éomer's question brought her out of her memories. Halla opened her mouth to answer and then closed it again. The reason? She couldn't tell him. No, not now, not ever.

"That's..." A very personal question she was about to say, but at that moment the healer barged outside to save her from answering. She was about to sigh from relief, but then realised she'd probably have to go inside again.

"Young lady! You should not be out, not with your wound! And with young Marshal! With that outfit! Inside! Now!" He seemed shocked beyond recovery, just staring at Halla and Éomer. And she was wearing his cloak. Scandalous.

"I am terribly sorry, Nerian. She was outside all by herself and I just couldn't let her be alone. Who knows what sort of ruffians might take advantage of her state," Éomer explained with wide and way too innocent eyes.

"You are the worst ruffian of them all," Nerian the Healer muttered back and turned his stern gaze to Halla. "I am quite sure the Marshal needs his cloak back. The nights are cold and he so likes to wander around when good people are sleeping."

To her surprise Halla realised she didn't want to give it back. It smelled nice and it was warm. And she definitely didn't want to return to the healer's hut.

"A good Marshal makes sure his people are safe. And maybe he will see a lady in distress and goes to help him," Éomer continued and Halla was puzzled by his actions. This didn't seem like the same Éomer that had been talking to her earlier on.

"Yes, I'm sure of that," Nerian's voice was full of sarcasm. "Always saving the ladies, the good Marshal. Now, let's go inside now and leave Marshal to his nightly activities." Nerian offered his wrinkly hand to Halla and she looked pleadingly at Éomer. There was a look she didn't quite understand, but after a while she realised she wouldn't be getting any help from there.

"Oh yes, I do feel a bit tired," Halla said with and plastered her face with a fake smile. "How kind of you to escort me back to my bed." She was quite sure both of them heard the forced strain in her voice.

Éomer coughed when she was about the enter the hut.

"My cloak, please?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"But I do like it a lot," she answered and made a pouty face. She could play this game too.

"I do fear it would raise a bit too many questions if I'd let you keep it," Éomer sighed. "A strange woman in town, spending the night with the Marshal and having his cloak in her possessions..."

"No need to continue," Halla said and tried to unburden herself from the cloak without hurting herself in the process. To no avail.

"Here, let me help," Éomer stepped up before Nerian could even make an disapproving noise. He gently lifted the cloak from her shoulders and Halla could feel his breath tickling her hair.

"No one else will know," he whispered just behind her ear, before stepping away and winking an eye. Halla was about to ask what he was talking about when she realised.

He was protecting her: No one else would know where the poisons had came from.

She was about to thank him, when she realised it would probably sound strange. Nerian was pushing her inside, but she did manage to send one last grateful look towards the Marshal.

The look he gave back at her was anything but gentlemanly. She realised too late the light from inside illuminated quite well what she had underneath her nightgown. And her hands came to protect the sight way too late.

She could hear him chuckle outside. If Nerian hadn't been so keen on getting her back to bed she would've run back outside and slapped Éomer.

_Men._


End file.
